Monday, 31 December 2012

Weddings, as you already know, are events that call for remarkable theatre. Thus, to endure the ordeal, I have a theory: arrive early enough to be seen, leave early enough so you aren't missed. And, come Sunday, I was all set and colour-cordinated to attend the wedding of mum's friend's son. Theory in head, I marched out, gift-laden, lip-shimmering, and hair-flowing, to St. Patrick's Church, where I was to wait for another friend.

I walked around the car park. Smiled at unknown people. You know, the usual. Then, ten minutes into the classic clacking-around cars-and-adjusting-hair routine, my feet began to feel rather sandy. I leaned against a car, reaching down to dust off my footwear.

Holy. Mother. of. Ten-headed. God.

It wasn't sand in my feet, but my footwear - crumbling. Literally. Crumbling to pieces. Breaking into bits like old biscuits. Self-destructing like the Terminator. Committing shoe-suicide. As if my evening wasn't going well already, a stray heel even decided to simply wrench itself off. Drowning in self-pity, I bravely yanked off the other heel, and walked all the way down to Brigade Road to buy a pair of cheap sandals.

At a quarter past seven, I arrived at the wedding; gift-laden, lip-shimmering, hair-flowing and - feet-flat. And I realised -

Hello hello! Yes, I'm back after a long interlude. Well, if you must know, the wedding was not at St. Patrick's church, I mis-read the invitation and was first of all waiting at the wrong place. Then, mum's friend picks me up after I buy some cheap shoes, and we both turned up at the wedding, having forgotten what the host looks like. We finally met him and spent an awkward 10 mins making silly conversation and he figured out that we didn't recognise him. Hahaha :D

About Me

I wish I were interesting, but I'm not the distant relative of a crocodile and I don't have natural blue hair. If I'd known my life would turn out like this, I wouldn't have strayed too far from the mother ship.